Monday: Sciatica is like a 4 on 1-10, a frowny face on the hospital charts at Women's & Children's, but with no tears. Molly has been up all night sick, so (drunk with the power of Retail Management flexibility) I call in my troops to cover me and I down Ibuprofen and Valerian/Skullcap and visit Hogwarts and Wonderland and heating pad life with the Bird.
Tuesday: Sciatica about 3, I power through with more Ibuprofen and stretches and am out of my herbs but have a Wednesday a.m. massage and adjustment to look toward. By nine thirty, am limping around the shop and can't sit even and call in the troops again. My army of treasure peddlers are PRICELESS ANGEL SISTER WIMMIN. I adore them.
I am in tears by the time I reach home, and dump a huge angsty snot and tears bucket on my Aunt P who so gets it, as she has had to come to terms with severe vision loss in a startlingly fast progression of Macular Degeneration. Then the GP calls back, winning the health care roulette I was playing. (If the chiro called back 1st, the Universe wants wholesome drug free goodness. If the GP called 1st, the Universe wants me stoned and "pain?whatpain?iamsoooomellow.")
GP busy so I meet a new (adorable. SRSLY cute) FNP, Ben. Ben is very dear when I lose my tough girl shit and cry like a baby with a boo-boo. He prescribes Celebrex and Skelaxin. I express this feeling of, "Really? I have a gushing wound and you gave me a pat on the back and a Band-Aid," but he says to try this dose and again I remind myself of my appointment next morning with Magic Stacy the masseuse and Dr. H the Scary Back Crack Specialist of Awesome. Also, a noob MA shoots my hip with Toradol. Nothing. NUTHIN.
So, after the pharmacy pick up, I rejoice, for this was my old Skelaxin:
I now hold in my hand this:
The toradol has finally kicked in. I am 100% pain free, but I have ORDERS to take this big, gorgeous pill. So I do. 6pm. By 7, I am drowsing through our Prisoner of Azkaban reading and pass out blissfully,
except then not. An hour later I am AWAKE, twitchy like I get during panic attacks. At midnight, I think... Oh! It's been six hours! I can take another pill and I will be all melty. Yay.
No. I am up all night long with twitchy legs and a great desire to crawl out of my own skin. I remember those little 400mg Skelaxin had made me anxious now, with the clarity we have at 3am. In the morning I drag-ass through the routine, get the Birdy out the door to her grandies feeling... just weird. Sort of wired, and a "something is WRONG but what" weirdness. I lay down with Shane for a few, as we do in the mornings before work. By then my twitchies have graduated to kicking leg spasms. I start talking about my Wrongness Feelings, and within 10 minutes, I am convulsing all over. The really great part is when they get to my diaphragm and upper abs and I'm hyperventilating. We have a fast conversation about EpiPen v. ER and I gasp at him that it's not my lungs; it's my muscles. It doesn't feel EpiPen-ish to me. It feels like "IV-downers STAT please."
So Shane drives me to the ER. Between convulsions, I ask, "Is this a seizure?" and he calmly replies, "No love. Just relaxxxx.... stay calm. I got you..." then we get into ER and he announces: MY WIFE IS HAVING A SEIZURE. (He swears he didn't say 'seizure' but he totally did.)
They give me 5mg of Valium (Pill, no IV. They are not as wigged as I am.) Within an hour, I'm a slightly shell-shocked person with one slight belly twitch, one very tired arm because my regular hand had seized up into a claw thing, and an iffy diagnosis of a bizzaro allergy to Skelaxin. They send us on our merry way with more Valium and a New Official Allergy in the system.
Then the Valium wears off, and the belly twitch turns into a wrenching crazy spasm. Shane starts calling me Twitch. He is not cute. We head back to the GP and get in with Ben. Ben is stumped, and says the half-life of Skelaxin should put me symptom free by that evening- Wednesday. FRIDAY a.m. I am STILL spasming, and my back hurts like hell. I am exhausted, and annoyed, and ready to start researching who in Big Pharma to sue and/or curse. I head back to the GP, to see my MD. She is also flummoxed, but as the twitches are much calmer at this afternoon appointment, she refills the Valium and says in her estimation, there may be traces of the evil poison in me still.
Saturday, there are only wee twinges that feel like a phantom baby is kicking. By the end of the day, I am back to my normal, meaning back pain that I am almost able to ignore. I strap on the brace, not caring a damn bit that it makes my core lazy. Fuck my lazy core- it deserves a break.
Sunday I begin re-entering life, piecing together schedules for the shop, laundry and various sundry things, and snuggle with my Girl Person and my Man Person. My people are wonderful.
And now life is just life again, and here I am. I have an Old Man Hat, and I don't feel like making up Treasure Nest Tuesday, but here is my security blanket of a hat: